


Blue

by Ozzyyy



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, First Meetings, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Hybrid Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Kid Fic, Light Angst, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Sign Language, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, They're teens, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, kind of, teen and up for swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28410618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozzyyy/pseuds/Ozzyyy
Summary: Wilbur finds a weird goat kid in the middle of a ruined town and asks Phil if they can keep him
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Jschlatt, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Comments: 19
Kudos: 228





	Blue

**Author's Note:**

> tw: uhh swearing, some general rudeness, bad spanish translation bc i havent taken a spanish class in months, and implied abusive people (but not extensively)   
> \--
> 
> as always, if the cc's are uncomfortable with my depiction of their characters, I will take down the fic. It's the least I can do :)   
> \--
> 
> While im workin on something bigger, i decided id add some of my backlog fics! I thought this was a nice revamp of their characters. also i love the white hair dyed brown idea SO.

"Holy shit!" 

Wilbur glances around in awe at the town he's come across. The whole pasture and makings were blackened with ash, raked through with scorch marks like it'd burned to the ground. It's windows smashed in, doors gone, buildings now rubble-- what a find!

The world is Wilbur's oyster, the ocean of the unknown, and he's just found a pearl. He was so lucky Phil was very relaxed with letting the boys run around the world, as long as they came home by nightfall most of the time, or messaged him if not. Everything was too interesting to stay inside, and Wilbur felt he could take over the world with his guitar alone! 

So of course, he walks into this very recently ruined city with clear intentions; Steal whatever the fuck he can get his hands on. Just like dad!

Wilbur's rummaging haphazardly through a chest, pretty disappointed to only see basic items (coal, some sticks, an apple) when he hears something rustling beneath it. 

Okay. New information.   
Wilbur looks deep inside the chest just in case it's something he's bumped, but the noise sounds less like falling items and more like desperate shoving. What else, it sounds like it's coming from under the chest, not in it. 

Wilbur cocks his head to the side, slings his guitar over his shoulder, and lifts the chest. 

Immediately, once the weight is lifted, the hidden trap door underneath bursts open and a figure leaps out of it, crashing onto Wilbur in the process.  
They turn ass over tea kettle as gravity pulls hard as Wilbur's rather unbalanced lanky form. Whatever person sprung out of that hidden compartment goes face first into cobble stairs, hitting their head with a hardened sound.

Wilbur hisses sympathetically once his head stops spinning from the sudden change in vertical motion. He lands, thankfully, on his knees and he can scramble onto his feet. He turns, palm hovering over the hilt of a sword given to him by Phil. 

Well. It's a kid. As much of a kid as Wil is. Short, rather scrawny, pale of skin and hair, a boy lays shivering in the afternoon sun, as if he hasn't seen it in years. His clothes are in tatters, white button up sliced to reveal long, thin, wounds across the ribs and back. His face is screwed into one of pain and concentration, like it's taking every fiber of this person's being to not pop out of existence. 

Wilbur, noticing very quickly that this person isn't a threat to him, approaches the shorter fellow and kneels by his side. He peers curiously at his shock of white fluffy hair, seeing the barest signs of blunted ram horns just beyond the mane. 

"Oh, hey! Are you, uh--" Wilbur fumbles, snapping his fingers as he thinks, "You're one of the animal folk, right? Techno's like that! Mob-like people. You're a goat, right?" 

The person on the ground simply curls in on themselves tighter, bracing and flinching for an impact that doesn't come. 

"Are, are you actually okay? You need help, right? Uh-I-I don't wanna touch you unless you're okay with that. Not for weird reasons! Just, I--" Wilbur stutters and goes into his message bag, pulling out a healing potion and a large wrap of gauze, "You look like you could use these, uhm, if you can open your eyes or something." 

The eyes flick open, yellow iris and black horizontal pupil shrinking in the light. It focuses on Wilbur, looking across his features and down to the potion in his hand. 

"I'm Wilbur, by the way!" Wilbur mentions, holding out his hand (he juggles the wrap into his other hand, awkwardly palming them in hopes to not look too much like a weirdo in front of this new person). 

No reply, only more glancing between the potion and Wilbur's face.

"Oh-Can--Can you understand me?" 

No reply, once again. 

Wilbur purses his lips, eyebrows furrowing. He talked with Niki a lot, she was teaching him some German in her off time. Maybe this guy spoke a different language like she did! 

"Ich--uh--ich bin--" He tries, accent breaking among the unfamiliar words, "Ich bin ein, uh-- freund?" 

Even more confusion. Maybe French?

"Je suis-- ami?" 

Fuck. 

"You--Er-no-- I mean;" Wilbur takes a deep breath, "Yo soy? Soy amigo?"

At that, the mysterious stranger reacts, eyes widening. Wilbur brightens at the response, forgetting the fact he knew close to no Spanish. 

"Hablas espanol?" 

There's no response, but it's obvious the stranger finds this language more amiable than the rest. He points to himself, "Amigo." It sounds horrible with his british accent, but the point gets across. Wilbur points at the stranger with a smile, "Amigo!" 

There's a slow moment of processing before the stranger nods, looking away nervously. 

Wilbur's absolutely giddy, uncorking the bottle and handing it out to him. Said stranger's response is cautious, but Wilbur points at himself again, "Amigo!" 

The stranger swallows hard, but takes the potion and sips it. As soon as the taste bubbles across his tongue, however, he downs the whole thing in a second. 

"Careful, don't get yourself sick." Wilbur cautions, looking at the teen's ratty shirt, "Do you need-- er-- uh-- shit--" He wracks his brain, "Camisa?" 

The other's eyebrow raises in confusion. 

Wilbur digs back into his bag and pulls out a large blue sweater he had brought with him in case of colder weather. His button up and black cardigan had been more than enough, however, and he hadn't needed it. Wilbur hands it to the other teen, tugging at his own shirt for a moment. 

"Your shirt looks like shit. Camisa, uh-- Caca." 

The stranger breaks out into laughter, which turns into soft pained coughs. He takes the sweater, however, and pulls it over his head before taking off the button up underneath. Still, Wilbur sees for a brief moment before the large rim of the turtleneck covers up his throat, that the boy's neck is horribly scarred. 

Well, that explained why he couldn't speak. The boy looks at him, eyes narrowed, when he notices the pointed look he's getting. 

Wilbur grins, nodding to encourage him, and takes the other, ruined, shirt from the boy and shoves it in his bag. He'd ask Phil if it was savable later, he was sure it had some significance to the other. 

Suddenly, the boy is scooting away and pushing at the dirt between them. Wilbur startles, thinking he's done something wrong, only to notice the boy was writing. 

"I can speak english, idiot." Wilbur reads out, mouth agape, "Well you should have said so! Why on earth did you act all weird when I tried to speak to you then?" He retorts, puffing out his cheeks in annoyance. 

'Didn't know who you were. Couldn't trust.'

"And you do now?"

'No, but I know--' The ram horned boy wipes out the words and rewrites it, 'My friend speaks like that. No assholes know that language, he promised me.'.

"Your friend? Is he here?" Wilbur looks around the ruined city with a frown. 

The ram boy shakes his head slowly, 'Left awhile ago. Thought he--' he retries, 'he said he'd come back--' another swipe and tears of frustration start spilling down the boy's cheeks, 'waiting for me outside.'

"Outside?" 

The boy points to the forest that Wilbur came from, and it seems he finds that to be a formidable answer. 

"Uh, well, do you have a name?" 

The boy blinks, confused, and looks at the words on the dirt before something seems to click in his head. He grins, wide, and writes very confidently; 'Schlatt'. His dark, soot covered fingers put a star at the end of the word. 

Wilbur laughs, "Okay Schlatt! Well, uh, if you'd like-- you could come hang out with me and my dad while we wait for you family or somethin'! It's kinda dangerous at night." 

Schlatt nods, eyebrows raised in almost ancient knowing beyond his years. Then, like it never happened, his boyish charm returns as he begins to gnaw at the sleeve of the sweater. Wilbur really wants to admonish him for it, but it's just a little too cute to stop right away. 

God, he sounds like his dad. 

Wilbur stands, buttoning up his bag and holding a hand out to Schlatt, "I'll lead you to my place. Don't worry, dad'll love you! You'll be safe with us, I promise." 

Schlatt takes the hand and stands, though he gives the hand holding a bit of an odd look. 

"Don't diss it--" Wilbur warns, "My dad holds my hand all the time when I get scared. It's nothin'." 

Schlatt's face screws up and a choked sound rattles through his vocal chords. It's less of a word, more of a bleat, but the pouting lip and slanted eyebrows gives enough message; I'm not scared!

Wilbur rolls his eyes, "Fine, then you can pretend I'm too scared." Now he sounds like Techno, fuck--

The hand is squeezed, but not let go of, and Wilbur feels triumphant. It was useful anyway, he wouldn't want Schlatt to get lost in the forest. With his snowy hair and now rather bright blue sweater, he was the poster boy for hungry mobs. 

He pulls Schlatt with him, swinging his arms freely and humming, "We'll be there in no time, don't worry!" 

Schlatt rolls his eyes, but keeps in pace. 

\--

It's nightfall when they return back to Phil's house, the base sitting stark against the snowy cliffs surrounding it. Despite this, the valley is warm and the concentration of the sunlight during the day, making it unbearably hot when it wanted to be. Which was, coincidentally, just how Wilbur liked it. 

(That's not to say 'raised in the literal nether' Techno and 'impenetrable force of nature' Phil did mind, but even they had their limits to the sweltering heat.)

"Jesus, Wil! It's late as fuck, where've you been off to?" Phil calls, seeing the familiar bouncing brown hair and beanie from the window. He walks outside, just pulling on his sandals when he sees Schlatt.

He b-lines his gaze right to Wilbur, witheringly disappointed. 

"I didn't kidnap anyone!" Wilbur whines, "I swear! He had no parents around him and it's not like he was making a lot of noise! There was no where else to bring him, I promise!" 

"I can't adopt another kid." 

"You're not!" Wilbur huffs, "He just needs a place to stay for the night, I think, while we wait for his parents. Or his friend." Wilbur adds when Schlatt tugs on his sleeve. 

Phil looks to the winter ram boy, sighing, "What's your name, then?" 

"He can't talk." Wilbur says for him, pointing to his throat. Phil's eyebrows crinkle in sympathy, "Ah, gotcha." 

Phil signs, as slow as he can, to Schlatt- asking his name. 

Schlatt smiles and finger spells his name back. 

Wilbur looks between the two in surprise, "What? What's that?" 

Phil and Schlatt sign back and forth to one another for a few more moments, Phil looking more and more grieved, before he pulls away and runs a hand through his hair to calm his nerves. 

"Sign language, ah, I'll teach it to you one day. It became really useful after we added Techno to our," Phil pauses, trying to find his words, "Our little family." 

"Techno knows it too? Cmon..." Wilbur pouts. 

"Later, Wil." Phil calms the other, and gestures with his head back into the base, "Come inside you two. There's still food left over." 

Phil knows that tonight, after Schlatt's long asleep in the spare bed, tuckered out from the hot cocoa and warm cinnamon bread, he'll have to tell Wilbur the truth. That Schlatt's family isn't coming back, that they're probably dead and whoever he's associated with might be too. Or even worse, thrown into the ring of fighters that Techno knows all too well.

Later, he will have to explain to Wilbur why he's told to come back by nightfall, and that it's not always about the mobs. Sometimes its about poachers and pillagers, about people who see those with special looks or skills and use them, wiping out any else for rarity or uniqueness. About how Schlatt will forever be without a family, how they'll need to keep an eye on him, how he might one some of the last of his kind, now. 

But for now, Phil decides, he'll let the boy have fun. Because he hold's Schlatt's hand so tight and strong, and looks at him with such pure glee that it's a wonder Phil hasn't adopted a younger brother for him sooner. He takes on the role with pride, even going so far as to explain everything that Schlatt looks at cautiously. 

For now, Phil will make cocoa and let them be boys.


End file.
